


Tell Me Where it Hurts

by facetiousfutz



Category: South Park
Genre: Bullying, Coming of Age, Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Middle School, Puberty, Soul-Searching, Teenagers, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-28 06:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12600580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facetiousfutz/pseuds/facetiousfutz
Summary: Craig Tucker doesn’t do emotions. That’s what he keeps telling himself. The longer he dates Tweek, though, the less true this becomes. Nosy parents, insufferable peers, and the generous helping of raging teenage hormones certainly don’t help. Craig was slowly, but surely going to lose his shit at this rate. It also doesn't help that he's still raw from a terrible summer camp experience, and he doesn't want to talk about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been loved but I didn't know how to feel it  
> And I've been adored but I don't know if I ever believed it  
> I've been loved my whole life but I didn't know how to take it  
> Until... - Tell Me Where it Hurts, Garbage (2007)

Three months. 

Three excruciating months. 

Craig had been avoiding this for so long, year after year, until his dad refused to take no for an answer anymore. Craig’s grades were poor, his social skills were abysmal, and he was thin as a damn rake. Not an ounce of muscle to be found on him, or so his father insisted. He also had more food stuck in his braces than he should have, and pimples and razor bumps that he couldn’t stop picking at. He was developing into quite the hideous teenager, as to be expected. Not that he gave a shit. 

For a boy would prided himself on pure apathy, his comfort zone was awfully small. Its only members being guinea pigs, pretending he didn’t give a shit, and his long-term boyfriend, Tweek. Thomas and Laura Tucker both agreed that Craig needed to broaden his world at least a little, so they signed him and his sister up for summer camp and that was that. 

The experience had its ups and downs, even if Cartman and all of his posse were there, too. Including Butters. Craig distinctly remembered that someone had died there gruesomely, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember who. Maybe it was just a dream? He tried asking Kenny, but Kenny told him to fuck off. It was so rude. 

Oh well. He got to watch each lumpy crater of cellulite jiggle on Cartman’s massive thighs as he attempted to run. Kyle snorted like a pig at him, and that got him pissed and running even faster. Too bad his mom didn’t send him to fat camp instead. 

Well, that was then, and this is now. He’d returned to South Park a week before school started, and didn’t even unpack before declaring that he was heading to Tweek Bros. Coffee. 

“You can’t even wait until tomorrow to see that boy?” Thomas asked. 

“It’s been three months since I’ve spoken to him, since someone wouldn’t let me have my cell phone,” Craig spat. 

“Be back before dark,” said Laura. That was fine. It was still summer, so he had a few hours. He hopped on his bike and made a b-line up the street, and it struck him that this eager energy was uncharacteristic. It wasn’t like they were completely out of touch. They wrote letters to each other. Tweek even bought a disposable camera, so he could take a bunch of pictures of Stripe and send them. Craig didn’t know they still made disposable cameras. 

The guys totally ripped on him for it, too, except Stan. He’d either tell the guys to fuck off, or occasionally spiral into jealous tangents because Wendy never sent him anything. Then they’d all rip on Stan for being butthurt and fawning over a girl he couldn’t seem to hang onto for more than a few months at a time. 

“It helps when you pay attention to them while you’re dating them,” Craig said. Stan called him a dick and told him to drown in the river. 

Some nights he wish he had. 

There’s an old saying. Well, there are lots of old sayings. Craig had them written down somewhere. 

“Absinthe makes the fart grow stronger,” he muttered to himself at the cross walk, in an effort to beat down the shit building in his chest. It wasn’t a big deal. It really wasn’t. He did this every fucking day before the summer. For years, even! This was a forced trial separation. Although Craig didn’t want it, he decided to treat it as an opportunity, to prove to himself that he didn’t need to see Tweek every single day to function in his life. There was no point in doing something he didn’t want to do if he didn’t get anything out of it, right? 

Three months, man. He hadn’t gotten to touch Tweek, see his face, or hear his voice. They were thirteen, for fucks sake. There was a very real possibility that Craig could open the door and find a man behind it, as opposed to the bright-eyed boy with chubby cheeks that he left behind. If Tweek was taller than him now he would be so angry. Oh god, what if he had a beard? Gross. Craig might be gay, but seriously, fuck beards. 

Man, why the hell was he so nervous? 

Craig parked his bike on the side of the coffee shop and went in. It was now or never.

“Hello,” said Craig. Tweek’s parents looked up and gawked at him. They were always pretty weird, but he could feel his skin crawling. He hated when people gave him that stupid deer in the headlights look.

“Oh, Craig,” said Mr. Tweak, walking out from behind the counter. He wasted no time, drawing Craig in for a hug. Was Tweek’s dad always this short? Craig was at least an inch taller now. Suddenly he was hopeful that his height still exceeded Tweek’s. Excellent. “It’s good to see you, son. My, how you’ve grown. How was camp?” 

“Fine,” Craig lied, reluctantly patting Mr. Tweak on the back once. “Is Tweek here?” 

“Oh, yes. Of course you’ll want to see Tweek. He’s in back working. Why don’t you go say hello?” 

“Thanks,” said Craig. He headed toward the Employee Only door, stopping once so Mrs. Tweak could lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek. It was only fair, and Craig didn’t really mind. Everything was normal on this front, so he reckoned Tweek must be, too. 

He could feel his heart tighten as he turned the handle. Jesus Christ. It’s Tweek. It’s just Tweek. His best friend. His boyfriend. The most important person in his life was right behind this door, and he was shaking. What the fuck? 

“Is everything all right, Craig?” said Mr. Tweak. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He took a breath and opened the door. 

Tweek stood there facing him. He must have heard Craig outside the door, because he seemed to know what to expect. Even so, once their eyes met, Craig’s heart was on fire. He could feel his throat tighten when Tweek’s perfect baby face cracked into a huge smile. 

“Hey,” said Craig, closing the door behind him. If he said anything else, he’d probably cry. Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“H-hey yourself,” said Tweek. His voice cracked, but that was definitely Tweek. He lifted one hand, and drew it back hesitantly. That was one of his tells. He wanted a hug badly, yet Craig felt like his feet were glued to the floor. Why did this seem too good to be true? It was only three months. It was only stupid camp with its stupid camp shit that doesn't matter. They kept in touch. They were still together. Although the room wasn’t lit very well, Craig could tell Tweek hadn’t changed much. 

“I... umm,” said Craig. Tired of waiting, Tweek took the initiative and approached him. Craig was stiff and cold one second, and the next Tweek threw his arms around him and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. “God, I suck at words.” 

“I don’t care,” said Tweek. “Because you’re here. I missed you so much, Craig.” 

“Fuck.” He could feel the corners of his lips trembling. He was going to cry whether he liked it or not. How embarrassing. “Don’t look at me.” 

“Why? Are you...” He felt Craig hiccup, and he knew exactly why. Tweek kept his cheek planted on Craig’s shoulder, admiring the scent of old camp fires and deodorant as Craig tightened his embrace. This was uncharted territory for both of them, in a way. Before they dated, they’d go months at a time without speaking, or hanging out, but it always felt natural when they got back in touch. Then they started dating and became inseparable. Sure, they gave each other space, like when they sat at different tables in the cafeteria. And they didn’t go to each other’s houses every day. But like, they were known for always being together. 

Craig went to camp, a bundle of nerves at the start. He was pissed off. He didn’t want to be there, and he resented not having his phone. Some of the campers from other schools caught wind about him being gay and were obnoxious buttholes about it. Unlike South Park, some places were still trapped in the past and couldn’t really deal with the fact that gay people exist. He didn’t necessarily feel any better when Stan and those jerks stepped in and told them to fuck off. He didn’t need their goddamn help. It didn’t even bother him. People suck. That's just how it is. 

It might have bothered Tweek, though. Yeah. Actually, scratch that. It definitely would have bothered Tweek. Tweek couldn’t stand it when Craig got into fights. He kept them few and far between to appease his love, but Tweek got really pissed off when he saw anyone hurt Craig. Even the slightest cut and bruise cut drove him nuts. It’s no more fun getting the rubbing alcohol treatment from your distraught boyfriend than it is to get it from your mom. It’s also just as embarrassing. 

“I’m right here, honey,” said Tweek, nuzzling his head beneath Craig’s jawline. “It’s OK. We’re OK.” 

“Is this real?” said Craig, feeling incredibly lame as those dumb words actually came out of his mouth. Even so, he was already crying. He couldn’t be anymore lame, so he kept talking. “You’re not a dream, right? I’m not gonna wake up in stupid, shitty camp without you, am I?” 

“Ah! No way,” said Tweek. “You’d better not. You know how many times I’ve had night terrors involving you getting eaten by a bear? I’m tired of it. Seriously, fuck camp!” 

“I agree,” said Craig. He placed his hands on both of Tweek’s shoulders and sniffled. He knew he was gross and boogery, but he leaned his sticky forehead against Tweek’s anyway. Why the fuck did he have to cry? His dad used to tell him that boys don’t cry. That was before his dad knew he was gay. Now it was kind of a foregone conclusion that Craig would somehow have a heightened sense of emotion now that he was very much in love with another boy. This was bullshit, of course. 

Also, his dad was wrong. Craig knew boys cried, even before he knew he was gay. Hell, he saw it all the time. Butters cried. So did Cartman. So did Stan. No one cried more than Clyde, except maybe a handful of girls, but even that was debatable. Hell, there have been a handful of times where Tweek’s mental breakdowns turned into some of the ugliest crying Craig had ever heard, or seen. The first time it happened, Craig’s mind screamed at him to run, but he didn’t, because that wasn’t right. Tweek was, well. He was Tweek. It happened, and he appreciated the comfort and company when he wasn’t feeling quite right.

What didn’t happen was this. This was different. This was uncomfortable, and Craig didn’t much care for it. He wondered if Tweek was creeped out for the briefest of moments, but decided against that. Again, it was Tweek. He was a constant whirlwind of emotion. This was kind of his territory. It’d be weird of him to judge, right?

“You dork,” said Tweek, and Craig could feel the smile in his voice. He still wasn’t ready for words, and Tweek had a million of them, but none of them were quite right. The only thing to do really was to fill the silence with a kiss, so Tweek planted his mouth on Craig’s salty lips and they stood just like that for as long as they needed to. They were both starved for each others’ touch, yet reluctant to go too hard too fast. There was also discomfort in Craig’s pants to take into account. He leaned away a bit, but the second their lips came apart they dove right back in, Tweek scrubbing the tears on Craig’s hot face away with his thumbs. 

“Hey,” said Tweek, between kisses. He planted a few more on each of Craig’s cheekbones, his chin, and a few more times on the lips. “Are you OK? You know you can tell me anything.” 

“I know,” said Craig. He brought Tweek’s hand up to his lips and kissed it. “But I honestly have no idea what came over me. Do you have a tissue? My nose is running.” 

“Yeah, I’ll go get you one,” said Tweek. Craig felt cold once their bodies were apart. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want that stupid tissue now. He was used to being congested anyway. God, what he really needed was some ibuprofen. His head hurt from crying. So did his eyes. Even his teeth hurt, more than usual. Fucking hell. 

Tweek returned with a roll of toilet paper. Good enough. Craig blew his nose. It was super gross. He had no reason to feel self-conscious, but Tweek didn’t like germs. His skin was bound to be crawling, but he didn't even flinch. Craig dried his nose and eyes off, throwing all the soiled tissues into the nearest garbage. Thankfully he didn’t feel like crying anymore, and he didn’t feel like shit either. He felt mostly drained, and beneath that he was really fucking happy. He was back. He was home. He could be with Tweek again and life could be normal again. Thank fuck.

“Man, fuck emotions,” said Craig, taking one more swat at the base of his eye. Dry, the way it should be. “How the hell do you live like this?”

“Huh? Like what?” 

“Like, uh, crying and shit.” 

“Years of practice, I guess,” said Tweek with a shrug. “Want to come over for dinner?” 

“Sure,” said Craig. “I’ll call my mom and let her know.” 

“OK.” 

Years of practice. Yeah right. Tweek just didn't know how strong he really was. 

Tweek headed out front, informing his parents that Craig would be joining them. They never even needed permission. To this day, Tweek’s parents were still so stoked that Tweek had a boyfriend. That’s the only part that seemed to concern them. It was bizarre and a little creepy. The type of shit that only happens in South Park. 

It didn't matter, though. In fact, it was kind of comforting. Craig could not believe how good it felt to be home. With any luck his life could go back to normal now. Sure, normal was Mecha Streisand destroying the town, or Mr. Hankey flooding an entire neighborhood with poo, or Mr. Slave shoving people up his ass, but at least it wasn’t camp. He really didn’t want to talk about camp. Fuck camp, and fuck his parents for sending him there. If his dad ever tried to make him go again, he’d probably grab Tweek and run away into the night with him. 

“Craig, we’re closing shop. Get ready,” said Tweek, peaking his head into the door. 

“I didn’t bring anything,” said Craig. 

“Aww. Not even a souvenir?”

“Well gee. Would you have preferred the pine cone I used to scratch my ass, or a happy little trail of rabbit shit? That’s all there is in the woods, dude.” 

“The pine cone would have been nice,” said Tweek. "But I'd rather hear some stories. What did you do all summer?"

“Suffer," said Craig. "Although I do have a pretty sweet story about Cartman farting on one of the Denver kids.” 

“Ugh, gross.” But Tweek laughed, and Craig supposed he could spare just one camp story. Might as well be a stupid one. Craig didn't feel like being emotional anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Craig had dinner with Tweek and his family that evening. His dad grilled burgers and corn on the cob, and his mom made salad. It was all served with a side of coffee for everyone. Craig only ever drank coffee at dinner when he was at Tweek’s house. He didn’t particularly care for it, but Tweek’s dad was so proud of his coffee that it seemed rude to turn it down. It was usually fine, even if it did keep Craig up all night.

It had been awhile since he’d last had any coffee, and Mr. Tweak brewed strong pots of the stuff at home. Actually, strong did it no justice. It was more like a nuclear explosion in his veins and guts, not to mention the headache. The headache he’d had all day, turned up to eleven. Granted, Craig hadn’t felt so hot since the moment he woke up that day, but he ignored it, because his bags were packed and he was going the hell home. He’d spent so much time thinking about Tweek that he forgot. He forgot turning down McDonalds on the way home. He forgot that he hadn’t eaten all day. He was hungry because of that, but also, not ready to eat the way he had. 

After one cup of nuclear coffee and a half-eaten plate of food he was jittery, stomach churned, hot and cold, nauseous, and his brow was beaded in sweat. Tweek noticed his disdain and asked to be excused, to which his parents cooed over all the catching up they would do, while reminding them to keep the door open. They barely made it up the stairs before Craig’s first b-line to the bathroom.

He was in and out of the bathroom about four more times after that, and Tweek gave him a pitiful glance every time he returned to the room.

“You don’t have to drink coffee just to make my dad happy,” said Tweek, leaning up on the bed. Craig walked over, hugging his cold, bloated navel. 

“I told you. I just have to get used to it again,” said Craig. He let out an unpleasant belch, gagged, and ran back into the bathroom. Moments later, he dragged himself back into the room and crawled pitifully beside Tweek. “Could you get me a blanket, please?” 

“Are you serious?” said Tweek, red and feeling no relief from his ceiling fan. He really hated summer. 

“No, I’m just pretending to be sick and miserable because it’s what all the cool kids do.” 

Tweek dug one of his mom’s knitted blankets out of his closet and tucked Craig in. 

“Hey, maybe if we’re lucky, I’ll fall asleep and our parents won’t bother waking me up,” said Craig. Tweek threaded his fingers through the sweat soaked mop of hair on Craig’s head and switched the television on. He selected a random Power Rangers series, and the two of them settled in.

There was a battle Tweek and Craig had been fighting since fifth grade, that is, to get permission to sleep over each other’s houses. So far they were only allowed to at group functions, such as when Token, or Eric had sleep overs. Those occurred far less frequently over time, though, as it had become increasingly gay for a bunch of boys to sleep in the same room together. At least, that was Cartman’s lame excuse, but everyone knew the real reason was because he didn’t want any of his classmates trying to sneak off and bone his mom. Craig, Jimmy, and Clyde still did overnights with Token once in awhile. Tweek rarely joined. He was uncomfortable enough in his own bed, let alone anyone else’s. It also didn’t help that he was often randomly jolted by night terrors when he did manage to fall sleep. 

Craig remembered the time Tweek had a night terror in the middle of class, and their teacher didn’t know what to do. Hell, Craig didn’t even know what to do. All he could do was take Tweek to the nurse’s office when he eventually came to. That was pretty fucking scary, but Tweek constantly reminded him that his night terrors sounded worse than they actually were. 

That’s what he signed up for, though. Tweek had paranoia, night terrors, and anxiety through the roof, and was not easily consoled. Sometimes it was impossible to console him. That’s why Craig wanted to be there for him. Someone had to be, and Tweek’s parents weren’t exactly model citizens. Well, not his dad, at least. The coffee shop almost got slammed with a lawsuit for containing trace amounts of meth, though somehow Mr. Tweak managed to finagle himself out of it. There was a very real chance he could have gone to jail, which would have uprooted Tweek’s life completely. In a way, Craig was relieved it never came to that, despite Mr. Tweak totally deserving it. 

His stomach, on the other hand, felt another way entirely. Aside from the occasional middle finger, Craig didn’t want to be rude to Tweek’s dad ever, for Tweek’s sake, but man, that guy was a real stupid asshole sometimes. It was a South Park dad kind of thing. All of the boys had stories, especially Stan. The girls probably did, too. Heidi Turner’s dad never intervened while she dated Cartman, for example. And hell, Craig’s dad wasn’t entirely innocent either, but he did a lot less dumb shit than all the other dads, and for that, Craig was grateful. 

Well, except for sending him to camp. That was his dad’s worst offense by far if you asked Craig. 

He didn’t want to think about it, though, so he pulled his arm out from under the covers and motioned for Tweek’s hand, and Tweek took it. 

“You know what?” said Craig. 

“What?” said Tweek, looking down at the pale, disheveled boy he called his love. 

“No amount of puking, or diarrhea could make things worse than three months of stupid camp.” He brought Tweek’s hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “I missed you, babe. Every single night.” 

“Are you running a fever now, too?” said Tweek, resting his hand on Craig’s clammy forehead.

“What? Too gay? Even for me?” 

“Incredibly.”

“Crying like a bitch earlier was OK, but saying 'I missed you’ was too much? Wow.”

“You weren’t crying like a bitch, Craig. It’s OK to have emotions.” 

“I know that.” Craig and his way with words. He didn’t understand what it was that Tweek was driving at, so he thought it best to drop it. His stomach felt cold and empty, and his tongue felt dry. “Can you get me some water?” 

“Yes dear,” said Tweek, planting a kiss on Craig’s forehead. 

“Sheesh. Now who’s the gay one?” Craig muttered, but Tweek hummed and said he wasn’t listening. He grabbed a bottle of water from the foot of his bedside table and handed it to Craig. 

“I missed this,” said Tweek. “Just us, sitting around, doing nothing. What did you even do at camp anyway? Besides suffer?”

“Suffer more.” 

“Oh, come on.” Tweek laid down beside Craig to be at eye level, having lost his vague interest in the show he put on entirely. “Did you hike? Swim? Play lame icebreaker games that everyone hates? Build crappy little towers out of straws and popsicle sticks? Tell me.” 

“Ugh, can we not?” Craig groaned. “Tell me about your summer instead.” 

Tweek pouted, and sighed. “Fine. I worked at the coffee shop every single day. Every. Single. Day. Summer vacation my ass. My dad gives less of a shit about child labor laws than Mr. Liu Kim does! Urgh. I had to be up at five in the fucking morning every day. ARHG! Not to mention the old wooden broomstick in back room gave me like twenty splinters, and dad’s still too cheap to buy a new one. Fucking! Gah! 

“A-and I finished all my summer reading, and the books all sucked! Especially Catcher in the Rye. Why do they keep making us read that shit? A-and I think I’m dyslexic, or something. I try to read words, and they all just look wrong, you know? Ah! I could read the same paragraph five fucking times and not retain any of it. And like, read sentences entirely wrong, and get a huge headache afterwards...” 

“Did you remember to put on your glasses?” 

“I can’t find my glasses!” Tweek shrieked. “Oh, s-sorry.

“That’s another thing. I’ve been practicing meditation. I’m really trying to control my mood better, and not twitch, scream, or stutter so much.”

“I can tell,” said Craig. Tweek frowned. “Don’t give me that look. I wasn’t being sarcastic. You are pretty mellow today.” 

“You think so? I-I feel like a trainwreck. Ack!” 

“That makes two of us, babe.” 

There was a moment of silence, and Tweek was tempted to go downstairs and grab another cup of coffee. Before he could, Craig leaned in and kissed him. His lips tasted only of Listerine, yet smelled like a vague hint of coffee and vomit. At least he tried. 

“How do you meditate?” Craig asked, pulling away. Tweek still smelled vomit, but licked his lips anyway. Fucking Craig. And now he was put on the spot. 

“Oh, well, uh.” Tweek turned away shyly. “I don’t? I mean? I just...” 

“Nevermind,” said Craig. “It’s OK.” 

“No, but I...” 

“Really, it’s fine.” 

“Craig! OK?” Tweek sat up and closed out of the Netflix app on his Wii U. Then he switched over to Youtube and put on some generic study music with alpha waves. 

“So, you just kind of get comfortable,” said Tweek, laying down again. “And you focus on the sound of your breathing. Oh, and visualize your happy place.” 

“Oh,” said Craig. His happy place was wherever Tweek was, so he first imagined Tweek cuddled next to him in some vague space. With guinea pigs. And the stars were out at night. No, actually, it was snowing out. Yeah, it was snowing, and they were snowed in for the winter. He tried imagining white hot chocolate, but his stomach gave a nasty lurch, so he erased that from his thoughts and took a deep breath. And another. And another. 

“How do I know if I’m doing it right?” 

“Oh, umm, it’s just,” said Tweek, scratching beneath his shoulders. Another one of his tells. He wasn’t feeling confident in his own knowledge. “I-I...” 

“Should I tell you what I’m imagining?”

“No! It’s personal. Everyone’s is different,” said Tweek. “Just... when you visualize it, how does it make you feel?” 

“Good, I guess?” 

“That’s good. Maybe, if you’re feeling anxious, you want to make it feel peaceful. Or, if you’re feeling depressed, you want to make it feel hopeful. It’s a tool, to like, help you take control over a counter-productive, or self-destructive frame of mind. It’s... I’m not good at explaining it, I’m so sorry...” 

“Tweek, it’s fine,” said Craig. He cupped the other boy’s cheek in his cold hand and enjoyed soaking the warmth from it. “I think I understand.

“Let’s just lay here for awhile, OK?” 

“O-OK.” 

The two boys shut their eyes, absorbing the gentle music in the background. They were both wired on caffeine, so it was doubtful either of them would fall asleep anytime soon. They were content to relax, and Tweek scooted closer so Craig could be warmer. It was stuffy in his room, sure, but if he didn’t move then he wouldn’t sweat so much. Being with Craig was all that mattered really. 

The warmth made a huge difference to Craig. He didn’t necessarily like driving people away, or keeping to himself. It was more like he needed people to understand who he was. To look past his middle finger and scathing remarks. They were only scathing if something, or someone, was wrong. Craig couldn’t help but be honest. His whole family was like that. No one liked to be silenced, or shamed, and the Tucker family was especially good at avoiding both. Hell, the last time Butters called any girl a bitch was the day cousin Red punched him in the nose. The funniest part was that Butters got grounded for it and she didn’t. 

Man, that goddamn Butters. Craig flipped from kind of being friends with Butters to bullying him like everyone else did. It was like a light switch. One day he was chit chatting with Butters in the cafeteria. The next, people were calling him a fag and a pussy and shoving his face in mud. Craig didn’t want to be just another fag, or pussy, so he betrayed his sort of friend and shoved him in the mud, too. He didn’t even hesitate. 

The only person who ever seemed to speak up for Butters on occasion was Stan, but Craig hated Stan, so he wasn’t about to have any moral dilemma over anything Stan cared about. Besides, Butters always swept it under the rug. He always came to school with the same stupid smile on his face, the same little spring in his step. It didn’t matter if he was covered in blisters, or bruises, or what. Being excessively positive made him less real to Craig, thus making him care even less about being just another bully. 

Oh, and he was Cartman’s pitiful little minion anymore, so who even cares? 

He could feel the chill from his stomach sink into his heart, and his entire body tensed up. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t need to be thinking about this. He didn’t want to think about Butters, and he didn’t want to think about goddamn stupid fucking camp. He clenched his fist and punched the side of the bed, startling Tweek so badly he almost flung himself off the bed. 

“Jesus Christ! What was that?!” 

Before Craig could say anything, Tweek’s dad knocked on the door. Just because he told them to keep it open doesn’t mean they actually did. 

“Craig, your mom’s here. Time to go, son,” he said, then he turned and walked off. Craig felt really cold, and he hugged himself for a bit before finding his shoes. 

“Heh... so much for sleeping over,” Tweek said nervously. “A-are you OK? You seem, I dunno.”  
“I’ll be fine,” Craig said, all too quickly. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“You know I’m going to. I can’t help it.” Tweek stood and hugged his boyfriend goodbye. “Feel better, OK? And text me, no matter what time. I’ll probably be up.” 

“I know. Thanks, babe.” 

He leaned in for a kiss, but what he got was Tweek’s cheek. Listerine only did so much. 

“See you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah.” 

Craig dipped out quickly. The longer he stayed, the harder it’d be to leave. He said goodnight to Tweek’s parents and got in the car with his mom. She’d already shoved his bike into the trunk, and didn’t look pleased. 

“What part of 'before dark’ was unclear to you?” she said as he buckled his seat belt. 

“It’s not that late.” 

“It’s eleven-thirty, Craig,” she said, pulling out of the driveway. Craig looked up and saw Tweek in the window waving goodbye. It was a small gesture, but he smiled anyway. Then his mirth was cut short when his mom decided to keep talking. “You weren’t even going to come home, were you?” 

“Nope,” said Craig. This is where his honesty usually got him into trouble. 

“You’re thirteen, Craig. Most boys your age aren’t so... involved as you and Tweek are.” 

“Most boys my age smell like skunk weed and sweaty buttcracks. Tweek smells like coffee.” 

“You’re missing the point,” said Laura. “You boys aren’t old enough to sleep alone together. End of discussion.” 

“But I got to share a cabin with seven other boys in the middle of the woods,” said Craig. “None of them wore shirts to bed. Some of them didn’t even wear their boxer shorts. I wasn’t peaking. They just happened to proudly announce that they sleep naked. Gaywads. I don’t think you realize how much crotch, ass, and nip I was exposed to, but God forbid I spend a night with Tweek...” 

“Enough!” That was all she had to say, and Craig shut his mouth and pressed his head against the car door. It was freezing. He was freezing. He wanted his warm, comfy Tweek back. 

After awhile, he couldn’t contain it. He simply grumbled, “We know we’re not old enough to have sex, and we don’t want to anyway. Why can’t you trust us?” 

“Craig,” his mom warned. He didn’t care. He didn’t even care if he got grounded. “The answer is no. Zip it.” 

“Mom-”

“Zip it!” 

“Fuck...” Craig shook his head. She didn’t understand how fucking hypocritical this was. She didn’t understand what he’d been through. What he’d seen and heard. The fucked up things that happened. Normally his parents were pretty good about not forcing their concepts of “what was best” upon their children. Normally. 

So why did they have to have sticks up their asses about this? 

“Have you had anything to eat?” said Laura. 

“Yeah.” 

“Did you drink any coffee?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You look like you’re regretting it.” 

“Nope.” 

“That’s interesting. Mrs. Tweak says you’ve got a little tummy ache.” 

“Mom, I’m fucking thirteen. Don’t talk to me like I’m five.” 

“You’re my baby. I’ll talk to you however I please.” She smiled and gave his cheek a pinch, so he smacked her hand away and gave her the finger. 

“Can I have my phone back?” Craig asked. 

“Yes. It’s on the kitchen counter.” 

“Is it charged?” 

“I don’t know. Dad was the one who had it.” 

“Dad sucks,” said Craig. “Fucking camp.” 

“Oh stop. It’s good to get some fresh air and exercise,” said Laura. “Did you make any new friends?” 

“Nope.” 

“Did you even try?”

“Nope.” 

“Fucking teenagers,” she said, pulling into their driveway. “Now brush your teeth and go to bed.” 

“After I get my phone.” 

“Sure, after you get your phone.” She rolled her eyes. 

Craig got his phone, and figures. It wasn’t charged. His dad was nodding out on the couch. Craig flipped him off goodnight and disappeared into his room. He could still message Tweek online using his laptop. He just preferred his phone.


	3. Chapter 3

Craig neither knew, nor fully appreciated just how lax his family truly was. While he got to whip out his phone and chat with Tweek at any and all hours, some children across town were cut off from contact with the digital world entirely. 

Butters was one of these children. 

He had no access to a computer, or any hand held device since he was eleven years old. At least, none that wasn’t totally supervised by his dad. He’d gotten used to that strict man breathing down his neck while he did his every school assignment, and was chastised whenever it wasn’t perfect. Naturally he was picked on for this, mostly by Cartman, but the other guys got their jabs in, too. All of his social media accounts were erased: facebook, twitter, the recently defunct Coonstagram. Every last one. Butters had one e-mail address, and only because he was required to have one for school. 

Oh yes, and he was grounded.

He knew he would be. There was nothing he could, or couldn’t do at camp to prevent being grounded when he got back home, so he made a point to enjoy the experience as much as he could. He liked swimming and ice breaker games, but went into throes of panic when they moved on to ropes courses and rock climbing. He’d had more than enough of heights and height-related injury for one lifetime, and Kenny agreed with him. The Mysterion persona gave him the strength to be fearless in any situation. Without it, Kenny made a point to avoid dangerous situations. 

So he and Butters spent a lot of time on the ground, sometimes spotting, or back up belaying, but mostly they stood back and watched. Butters was relieved that he wasn’t alone in his fear. He also took some pride in the fact that, the one time he tried, he made it up the rock face at least two feet higher than Cartman before his nerves brow beat him back down, although Cartman couldn’t climb because he was morbidly obese with exactly zero core strength, not because he was scared. Camp Counselor Schepp, a college sophomore, was really supportive of everyone, and didn’t judge anyone who couldn’t make it to the top. Butters rather liked him. Trusted him. He liked the others, too: Foley, Beres, and Hintz, and ol’ director B. Bob Stumbo, who his dad knew personally. Very personally. Whatever that meant. 

They all made him feel safe and welcome. A nice change from being yelled at and grounded all the time. 

It was a lot of fun, at least until the end. That’s when things got real sticky. He and some of the fellas got into a heap o’ doodoo those last few nights. For some reason Kenny was absent, and Butters felt so uneasy and exposed without him. He confided in Schepp about that, wondering where Kenny had gone off to, hoping he was OK. What happened soon after was, well. He mostly didn’t remember, if he was honest, but he remembered enough. Enough to make him flinch and hold himself tight.

He told himself, self, it just don’t matter. Forget it. Put it out of your mind. It’s... it’s not the first time that sort of thing’s happened, and it probably won’t be the last time. If he were smarter. If he paid more attention. If he knew how to read people better, he figured, he’d stop getting into all that messy business. He’d do better not to listen to Eric, too, but Eric was his closest friend, even if he was mean and played cruel jokes on Butters. 

Not to mention, as far as he knew, the fellas didn’t know about it, and they didn’t have to, because then they’d get into trouble, too. Butters didn’t want their folks getting all sore at them, too. Getting them grounded and such. It was best he take responsibility for his own mistakes, and trusting the wrong people. Even if his chest hurt. Even if he cried himself to sleep. At least God loved him, right? 

And hey, on the bright side, he had school in the morning. Even getting wedgies and titty twisters from his peers was a whole lot better than being all alone. 

\--- 

“Damn it,” Craig muttered. Seven already. He supposed it wasn’t a terrible loss, having to get up and get ready. His summer wasn’t over, because it never began in the first place. He’d have nine months to plan the next one. Or not. There was already enough structure in his life as is: wake up, take a shower, play the track “Fuck Everything About You” by Monkey Splooge while he brushed the barbed wires in his skull. He couldn’t even feel the teeth most of the time. Just braces and pain. He’d had these fucking braces for over two years now, and Dr. Prick, his orthodontist, was an unbearably cheerful masochist. Always whistling. Fucking bald asshole. Craig wasn’t looking forward to his next appointment, especially since he outright refused to use his rubber bands at all while he was at camp. Nobody made him do it, so fuck it. 

But he’d been using them since he got home, and fuck if he didn’t give himself a fat lip teaching himself how to put them on once again. Why is life? 

“Craig, let’s go!” said mom, pounding on the door. He’d barely gotten the second one in, and didn’t even want to talk now that it stayed on. Despite his hatred of gross chin growth, he still neglected his hair and patchy stubble outright, throwing on his old chullo hat and calling it good. Who did he have to impress anyway? Tweek? He could be some crusty old geezer’s soiled diaper and Tweek would still find it in his heart to love him. Weirdo. 

Craig caught himself smiling in the mirror for a split second, then went right back to bitch face. It hurt to smile, and it was corny to randomly gush over his boyfriend, even if it was internal and brief. 

“Oh my god,” said Tricia, her arms crossed and glaring at him when he walked out. “What were you doing in there, sis? Plucking your eyebrows?” 

“Eat my ass,” Craig responded. She gave him the finger, and slammed the bathroom door behind her. Craig threw his socks and shoes on and drifted down the stairs. He burped good morning to his parents and stood with the refrigerator door open longer than necessary.

“What are you looking for, boy? Last year’s Thanksgiving leftovers?” said Thomas. Craig just grunted and shut the fridge without grabbing anything. “Damn kids. You cost me a fortune when you stand there with the fridge open like that.” 

“I know, I know.” Craig yawned, wincing when he snagged his rubber bands. He still wasn’t used to them. He didn’t want to eat anything because of it. He grabbed one of mom’s K-cups and brewed himself some crappy coffee instead. Since he’d come home he found himself craving it more. The Monster energy drinks he used to prefer were kinda starting to taste like piss. He needed something to wake his brain up. 

“You know I don’t like that, Craig,” said Laura, glaring at his coffee cup. He stared right into her eyes as he took a long swig. She didn’t like anything that he did anymore, so he stopped caring. He truly fucking did. 

And just like that, he stepped out into the world, ear buds in and ready to face the new day like a fucking champ. 

\--- 

Craig darted past Butters when he got on the bus, no eye contact. Nothing. And so did the other guys behind him. That’s how it always was, though. Stan and those guys, who were also some of the most lowly-regarded boys on the social food chain, tended to be the only ones who tolerated Butters. Stan and Kyle always sat together, or at least near one another. Cartman and Kenny would sit across from them. They’d all rip on each other and piss off the bus driver intentionally.

But then, out of the blue, before the bus even got rolling from Craig’s stop, Kyle headed toward the front of the bus, taking the vacant isle seat next to Butters. Well, this was a nice surprise.

“Hiya, Kyle!” said Butters, and Kyle was staring down at him critically. There wasn’t any particular reason for this. None that Butters could think of at any rate. “Oh. Do I got somethin’ on my face, or?” 

“Are you doing OK?” Kyle suddenly asked, and it seemed weird and out of place. Like, yeah, there were times when Butters wasn’t feeling quite like himself. Maybe a wee bit off his rocker, usually after not getting enough sleep, or being pressured into doing something for his friends so that they’d like him more, or for his parents so he wouldn’t get grounded and such. Still and all, it was nice of Kyle to ask, so Butters smiled big for him and answered that he was just swell, and thanks for asking. 

“Are you sure?” Kyle asked. “Because, umm. If you ever needed to talk, or whatever...” He looked almost like he was gonna put his arm around Butters, but he didn’t. He kept his distance, and looked vaguely terrified. What for? Butters really didn’t know. He just kept smiling and shrugged it off. 

In fact, he even put his hand on Kyle’s shoulder and said, “I’m doing real great. Just grounded is all. And I’m awful happy you asked. 

“Are you doing OK, Kyle? You look like you seen a ghost, or somethin’?” 

“Umm,” said Kyle. Then he slid away from Butters just like that, walking right back to where he was before, despite the bus being in motion. The driver yelled at him to sit down, not that he or anyone else cared. 

“Huh. Wonder what that was all about. Oh well!” said Butters, forgetting all about it, at least until they arrived at school. Right before he could find home room, Cartman stopped him in the hallway and looked more pissed than the time that Douchebag farted on his Kentucky Fried Chicken. 

Butters never knew what to expect when Cartman was enraged. He only knew to brace himself for impact. 

“What did that fucking Jew tell you on the bus?” said Cartman, punching a locker. 

“Eric, wha...?” 

“What did Kahl fucking tell you, Butters? And don’t you DARE lie to me!” 

“He asked me how I was doing is all,” said Butters, his eyes wide like saucers. A nauseating pang of dread slammed his gut the moment Cartman manhandled him, trying to shake some unknown piece of information out of him. He really was telling the truth, and no amount of shaking or yelling was gonna change that, but Butters had no idea what to say that’d get Eric to stop. He shut his eyes and accepted the assault, because that’s what he knew.

He didn’t even have to say a word, because it was over just as soon as it started. Butters cracked an eye open, and Craig Tucker was towering over him, practically crushing Cartman’s wrist in his hand. 

“That’s enough,” said Craig. Tweek was right behind him. Either of them alone could take Cartman easily, so he was entirely outmatched with both of them there. A small group was starting to gather around, too. Wendy looked ready and eager to jump in if need be. Token was already rolling up his sleeves. There were a lot of murmurs. Butters felt trapped, and his mind started to swim, at least until Kenny grabbed him by the hand and pulled him away. Afterward, Cartman huffed and yanked his wide arm away from the surly teen. 

“Pssh, whatever, train tracks. And keep your gay hands off me. I don’t swing that way, OK?” 

“Thank fuck for that,” said Craig, shooing him off like a fly. The small group that gathered around them laughed at Cartman, and then the bell rang, signaling them all to home room. 

Meanwhile, Butters walked with Kenny hand-in-hand to home room, wondering to himself what all that gosh darn ruckus was about. To him, that was typical behavior of Cartman, but the rest of his classmates were kind of. Kind of. 

Oh well. It was over now, and Butters wasn’t one to dwell on the past. He reckoned if he got school off on the right foot, his dad would unground him sooner rather than later, so that’s what he would put his energy toward. He even got himself excited for it. He liked school. He liked every subject, except Gym, if he was being honest, but that’s only because he got picked on, and the shorts the school provided were awful short. He didn’t like to feel exposed. Oh no. 

\---

Craig and Tweek did not have home room together this time. Instead Craig got stuck in Ms. Anthrope’s home room, and Tweek in Ms. Andry’s home room. According to local legend, these bitches both ate children alive. Middle school was not a good place to be in the quiet little mountain town of South Park, but this was their last year of it. They’d have one more sentence to serve in Park County High, then off to drown in a sea of college debt, or work some crappy minimum wage job that paid so little that he and Tweek would be damn lucky if they could afford a one bedroom apartment or trailer with at least some of the roof intact. 

Craig’s parents would “gently” remind him of exactly that every so often. That this was his future if he didn’t improve his everything by the time he reached high school. His teachers all rammed that into his skull, too. College, college, college. Work, work, work. GPA. SAT’s. Scholarships. Fuck. He wasn’t even in fucking high school yet, but he was certain he’d be deep-throating yet another pointless standardized test that measured fuck all. And poor Tweek. Tweek was so smart, but he got test anxiety, and bad, which is where Craig’s resentment was coming from. He didn’t give one shit about his own grades. He kept them high enough to avoid being grounded. The end. 

The morning announcements started playing, welcoming everyone back for a whole new year of bullshit. His phone buzzed three times. Tweek. 

wow craig!!! 

what happened? since when do you stand up for butters?

i mean that was really cool. i hate seeing cartman push him around like that tbh

Craig thought about it for a moment. He knew why. That wasn’t a conversation to be had over text messages, or even at school for that matter. He still didn’t even have the words, so the near future was also out of the question. He knew he had to tell Tweek eventually. It was going to get out. Any situation involving Kyle and Cartman always came out. Always. Craig had to be the one to tell Tweek first. 

But it was going to be hard, and he didn’t want to. It would hurt. It could ruin everything. Goddammit. 

it was nothing

talk about it some other time. i promise

ilu 

“Hrmm!” the teacher coughed, glaring right at him. He glared right back, fighting the urge to flip her off with everything he had.

Then he shoved his phone back into his pocket to appease her, but he knew by her death glare. He knew that was her one and only warning, for the entire year, and he’s already used it up. Thanks to the rumor mill, he knew Ms. Anthrope was a hard ass about phones, among other things, but especially phones. This was only home room, though. For all she knew, he was texting his parents something important. 

Besides, it was everyone’s first day back, including hers, and she looked like her coffee hadn’t kicked in yet, so she didn’t have her full fight in her yet. Craig had been dating a caffeine addict long enough to tell. Still, she had wire-rim glasses with hawk eyes beneath them, and a fuck of a lot of frown lines. And a lot of gray hairs. 

And she was his science teacher. 

Fuck. Well, she was everyone’s science teacher, but still. Fuck. Fuck, and fuck. This was going to be a long year. 

Over the course of the day, Craig studied his schedule. He’d have math first, then gym every other day, and art on the days he didn’t have gym. The first chance they got, he and Tweek got together and compared schedules. Both their chests fell when they realized they barely had anything together. On Mondays and Wednesdays they had art together in the morning, and French together in the afternoon. They had nothing else. Nothing but lunch, or the occasional assembly. Yup, fuck that. 

Craig shared entirely too many classes with Kyle, Cartman, and Wendy, though. Lucky him. He’d only have to put up with them arguing over petty shit until they were all blue in the face. Again and again. Day after fucking day. Meanwhile, Tweek had some remedial courses that he didn’t even need. Again, he was smart, but put a test in front of him and forget it. And don’t even think about giving him any lab equipment either. He’d left a small crater behind in the lab at South Park Elementary the year they graduated. Craig didn’t know what happened, because Tweek couldn’t use actual words to describe it no matter how hard he tried. Instead, Craig had to resort to reading about it in the school newspaper. Jimmy was in charge of that, though, so he was as gentle as he could be about it. 

Anyway, if those arrangements weren’t enough to piss in his cereal, the worst was yet to come once he did make it to Ms. Anthrope’s shit class. He noticed the desks were arranged into groups of four. That could only mean that this bitch was a stickler for group work. The absolute worst kind of teacher there was. 

She had everyone in the class line up single file. Then she called them out by last name, grouping them by alphabetical order. 

“Sorry if I butcher this... Kyle Brofolski?” 

“Broflovski,” Kyle corrected. 

“Yes. Kyle BroFLOVski, you’ll be with Eric Cartman...” 

“No!” said Kyle, purely on reflex. Ms. Anthrope assigned him detention just for that. It was a warning to everyone else. 

Aww shit. Craig had to look around the room now, just like everyone else. Most of the faces weren’t new, and it sucked that Tweek wasn’t here, because Tweak and Tucker were so fucking close alphabetically, and that would have been awesome. Another cosmic slap in the face by the powers that be. He did notice a certain Testaburger wasn’t here, so the entire ménage à trois from hell wasn’t there to give him a splitting headache, which was good, but for the fact that Kyle and Eric were its two worst members. He noticed cousin Red on the other side of the room and felt some relief. They were both Tuckers, so they got stuck together a lot when this sort of thing happened. Their relationship was otherwise nonexistent, though. It was nothing personal. Neither of them were social creatures. 

If anything, she got on a lot better with Tweek. All of the girls did. One less thorn in Craig’s ass, he supposed. 

After McCormick was called, Craig suddenly noticed Butters, and hoped they wouldn’t be grouped together. Especially after what happened earlier, because Tweek was right. It wasn’t like Craig to rescue Butters, or anyone from the wrath of bullies. Not really. Walk away and pretend it never happened. Push him in the mud, or get pushed in the mud with him. That’s what he knew. Those were the rules he went by. Before he knew it, though, those rules had changed. He couldn’t fight it. He knew what Cartman’s problem was, and he had to put an end to it. In a typical Cartman fashion, he was acting like the victim in a situation where he wasn’t, and Craig knew it, and that’s why his body responded the way it did. Before he could even think he was restraining Cartman, and Tweek was right there backing him up, having no clue why, but for the fact that Craig had acted. 

Oh Tweek. Tweek always had his back, right? Yeah. Yeah, of course he did. And he would. 

But fuck. What a weird way to start the day. Craig still couldn’t look Butters in the face, let alone sit across from him for an entire year. What in the fuck was his last name, though? Did anyone even know? Or care?

“Stevens, Stotch, Tucker, and Tucker. Over there," said Ms. Anthrope, and of course Butters took a step forward, same as Craig, Bebe, and Red. Fucking hell. No classes with Tweek. All classes with with everyone he hates. Now the promise of group projects involving Butters. This was already the worst year of school ever, and he’d survived Mr. Garrison’s class! Twice! 

Craig slouched in his seat beside Red. She also had braces, acne, and bad posture, so in appearance alone she was like a female Craig, but again, they only tolerated one another when necessary. Bebe had her hair tied back so fucking tight that Craig was surprised she didn’t rip her scalp off, and as usual she went all out with her makeup. That was her style and she wore it with pride. Also, her boobs grew three sizes since last year. Yes, even gay boys notice boobs. They’re nice, in a round sort of way, and only when Kenny isn’t the one pointing them out. 

Then there was Butters. He was sitting right across from Craig, fidgeting, and when Craig offered him a passing glance, the smile Butters had to offer was really off-putting. Craig’s eyes darted toward the floor, and he crossed his arms, feeling cold and defensive. He also had the misfortune of selecting the seat where the clock was directly in sight, so he’d be spending much of his year watching time tick by like a sloth swimming in molasses. 

Ugh. 

Once he knew Ms. Anthrope’s policy on bathroom breaks, he vowed to abuse it, so he could spend as much time as possible texting Tweek without the threat of getting his phone taken away. He was going to need it. He already couldn’t stand this. He wanted to get up and walk as far away from this as his legs would take him. 

“Hey,” said Red, nudging him. When he ignored her, she elbowed him in the ribs and shoved half an open text book onto his desk. It was a beaten relic, at least ten years old, and there weren’t enough for everyone. They had to share. Fan-fucking-tastic. There was no chance in hell Bebe would willingly share with Butters either. Being a buttmonkey and a Cartman were two things the girls of South Park detested with every fiber of their beings, and Butters was a heck of a lot of both. She’d steal Red away before the week was done, and Craig would be stuck with Butters.   
Christ, dude. This couldn’t get any worse. 

Of course, he could just choose to not do homework outright. Besides, it’s middle school. Who fucking cares, right? 

Right.

Yeah.   
Except he’d get grounded if his grades were too low.

There was no way out. 

He just couldn’t win. 

After what seemed like hours of tuning out the gut-curdling caw his teacher called a lecture, the bell rang, and it was off to French, where Craig could finally decompress, because Tweek would be there. 

He intended for his escape to be swift, but Ms. Anthrope had other plans. He’d bumped shoulders with Bebe by accident, too hasty in his need to escape. She’d yelled “oww!” about thirty decibels louder than necessary. Bitch. It was an accident, and it wasn’t even that hard. 

“You!” Ms. Anthrope spat. Craig paused, while the other’s piled out, including Bebe. The teacher motioned for him to come over. He was ready and eager to take off, but Ms. Anthrope glared down at him over the rim of her glasses. She wasn’t having it. 

“Yes?” said Craig. He’d shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets. It hurt how much he needed to flip this bitch off. It physically hurt, but he relented. 

“Are we going to have a problem this year, young man?” she said, entirely unimpressed. What was her first clue, he wondered? His phone? Clock-gazing? Giving everyone in his group the cold shoulder? Bebe being a bitch? 

“No,” said Craig. 

“Really? Because a student complained of you making him very uncomfortable with your rude hand gestures earlier.” 

Probably Cartman. Wouldn’t be the first time. 

“No,” repeated Craig. 

“Did you hear a word I said today?” she asked. “Because to me, you looked like you were on Cloud 9.” 

“I have ADD,” Craig lied, or so he assumed it was a lie. Maybe he was telling the truth and didn’t even know it. He wouldn’t be surprised either way. 

“That only works if I get a doctor’s note.” She tapped her nails impatiently against her shoulder. Craig kept his mouth shut. He’d gotten better at keeping his mouth shut over the years, not because he was wrong, but only because he didn’t want his phone taken away, and he didn’t want to be grounded. He had a reason to stay out of trouble, and Tweek was practically his lifeline some days. “Well, go on. Don’t let me catch you harassing your classmates, or messing around on your phone. Got that?” 

“Yeah,” said Craig. He then turned heel and got the fuck out of there. The chill in the air was stopping his lungs. What an evil, scary bitch. 

Thank God Tweek saved him a seat in French class. He got there just in time for his name to be called for attendance. 

“Bonjour,” said Tweek, once Craig entered the room. It was supposed to be perfect. The desks were grouped together in twos, and everyone knew that a seat beside Tweek was always reserved, unless there was no Craig to be found. Yet there he was, and there he sat, as expected. Craig even had a default response prepared for whenever Tweek said “bonjour” which was, “Tweek, you sound gay in French" and they would laugh, and it would lighten the mood, making for the best class of the day so far. 

That’s not what happened, though. Instead, Craig reached for Tweek’s hand and gave it a desperate squeeze. Then he said, “kill me” and didn’t even offer any context. That made Tweek’s face fall. 

He felt it all along. All day, he felt like something was wrong. Heck, he knew something wasn’t quite right since the day Craig got back from camp, but today? Today was the complete picture of hell. 

What exactly that hell was, Tweek didn’t know. He thought Craig looked so cool earlier, standing up for Butters while Cartman was rattling him. But he also noticed that Craig looked miserable, and he couldn’t even look at Butters. The whole thing was strange, to say the least.

Something happened. Something happened, and Craig wasn’t talking about it. Granted, Craig wasn’t much for talking through his feelings. He wasn’t like Tweek. It wasn’t what he did. It wasn’t how he processed his emotions. He held them inside, and then they went away. Or so they seemed to. It was like anything could just roll off of Craig Tucker’s back, as long as that anything wasn’t too stupid to comprehend. Then Craig responded with anger and biting sarcasm. This time, however, Craig just seemed really depressed. Really depressed. Why was he depressed? What happened? 

He gave Craig’s hand a squeeze, if only to say “I’m here when you need me,” because Craig was going to need him. He knew that. The hard part was being patient, but he had to be. 

He had to. 

He had to pay it forward. 

Craig had been so patient with him throughout the years. Time and time again. Countless times. When you’re like Tweek, you learn to grow up fast and learn to be grateful for what you have, or you drown in overpowering negative emotions, such as resentment, worthlessness, envy, and especially guilt. Especially guilt. Fuck guilt. Tweek felt guilty even now, just for being out of Craig’s reach, which was entirely out of his control. Still. 

Tweek appreciated and loved Craig so much. More than anything. He was always there for Tweek, and would be again, and again. Tweek trusted that, which meant the world to him, since Tweek could count on one hand the amount of things in the world he trusted. Tweek’s meltdowns were a matter of when and/or why, never if, and he had the doctor’s notes to prove it, so not even Ms. Anthrope could touch him. 

Craig, on the other hand, well. Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Ugh! 

Augh! 

“Oww!” said Craig, yanking his hand away. “Tweek?” 

“I-it’s nothing,” he whispered, so they wouldn’t get in trouble. Some people were staring, but luckily their teacher was as old as death, and practically deaf to boot, so he didn’t miss a beat in his boring review about conjugating verbs. 

Meanwhile, Tweek had come to the same conclusion Craig had earlier. This was going to be one long, painful year.


End file.
